


Winter thaw

by B100b100d



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: AU - IPRE crew never met, AU - no stolen century, Alternate Universe, Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-08 14:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B100b100d/pseuds/B100b100d
Summary: Davenport has always done things by the book and has never even considered straying from the path laid out before him. When a routine interview on behalf of the Bureau of Benevolence goes horribly awry, fate throws him into the path of Merle - a carefree, stubborn and secretive dwarf who refuses to cooperate in the ongoing investigation in the aftermath. As the two get to know each other, things become more and more complicated. As tensions grow, will the two find their way back to each other, or will the lingering chill of the past drive a wedge between them forever?





	1. Chapter One: Strange beginnings

Words. Words are the foundation of civilisation as we know it. They can change lives, ruin a party, or persuade a particularly stubborn customer to buy that pair of pants that you know will look just perfect on them. The right words can even cause someone to fall in love, given the right circumstances. The single word that would change Davenport’s life forever was not one of great import. It was a word slurred at him by a drunken dwarf inside a small bar in a smaller town. It was uttered over bad show tunes performed by a human man with a soul-patch and heart-shaped glasses, who – to be frank – was singing just slightly off-key. A simple word with two syllables. “Howdy.”

The series of events that lead to this momentous interaction could be described as mundane. Davenport had spent a very long, tiring day on the road to the town of Phandalin. Honestly, you’d miss it if you blinked when driving through it - which Davenport would have if it weren’t for the driver - who leaned back in his seat and called out to him that the journey was at its end. He stretched and sighed quietly as the carriage pulled up outside Phandalin’s single tavern – ironically named “The Sleeping Giant”. Straightening his waistcoat and rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes, he opened the glossy black door and dismounted the steps onto the cobbled street. He strode evenly towards the front door of the establishment, a warm yellow light filtered out onto the street which accompanied the faint sounds of laughter and music wafting into the night air. Davenport adjusted his tie one final time, and checked for errant strands of hair. A wayward piece of lint on his left sleeve caught his eye, and he carefully pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, releasing it into the chilly evening breeze.

As he opened the door, a wave of sound washed over him. The tavern was fairly busy – as busy as a small tavern can be anyway. A very tall, skinny human man occupied the stage at the back of the room – which was little more than a small raised wooden platform. He was singing a cover of a song from the High School Musical soundtrack, the one where Sharpay sings about luxury while casting extremely intricate and complex illusions to populate her fantasy world. Honestly, it’s an iconic scene of the film, and Sharpay deserved more credit than she got. Unfortunately, the bard was definitely not doing her masterpiece justice, and Davenport had to stop himself from visibly cringing when the singer warbled out several tone deaf notes in a row during the chorus. 

Several humans sat clustered around two tables that had been pulled together in one corner. A large, burly human man sat at a table alone witling wood, what looked like… a duck? Some sort of waterfowl anyway. Another human man sat a few feet away, his table stacked high with many maps and papers, and in the opposite corner were two very glamorous elves that whispered to themselves and pointed to the musician often. A single dwarf was alone at the bar, singing along to the song and chugging beer to his heart’s content. Davenport took all these individuals in before spotting the person he’d come here to meet – a small Halfling woman who sat close to the stage and waved furiously from her seat. Her red hair was pinned up into a messy bun on the top of her head, and as he approached she stood from her seat and clasped his hand, shaking it vigorously. 

“Hi! I’m Noelle Redcheek,” she grinned, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister…?”

“Davenport. Just Davenport,” he smiled back warmly, settling into his own chair, one leg crossed comfortably over the other. He produced a small red leather bound notebook from the breast pocket of his waistcoat, a black pen, and a small memory stone, and placed them neatly onto the table. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I record this, Ms Redcheek, it’s more for the sake of cataloging your experience than anything else. I’ll also be taking notes in my journal here and I’ll take what we discuss back to my employer, then we’ll see what we can do for you from there.”

Noelle folded her arms onto the table and leaned forward in anticipation, “Of course, whatever it takes to help my family’s case,” she smiled again, “And please, call me Noelle.”

“Alright, Noelle,” he tapped the surface of the memory stone, which glowed blue in response, “Start from the beginning. Who are you, and why do you require our services?”

“Noelle Redcheek of Redcheek Cider, at your service. I’m the oldest daughter of Darius Redcheek, and as the oldest I’m the first in line to inherit the ol’ family business,” she paused briefly as Davenport flipped open the journal and started to take notes, printing quickly but neatly in large, looping letters. 

“We need your help because as of late, our orchard has been under attack. Three weeks ago, we started to notice something strange. Several of our orchards were growing apples that rotted straight off the tree. It was the darndest thing; none of us had ever seen anything like it. Have you ever heard of apples doing something like that before?” 

Davenport looked up and smiled patiently, “If you could give your statement in a continuous fashion please we’ll just leave discussion to the end,”

“Of course! Pardon me,” she grinned lopsidedly, scratching the back of her head.

“Not at all,” he smiled again, “Please, continue.”

“Sure. We weren’t sure at first that it was foul play, until a week ago that is. I woke up in the middle of the night, around about three o’clock, and I heard my dad shouting outside. I got up and ran outside and immediately I got hit with a wall of smoke. Our biggest orchard was on fire, my dad and the rest of my family just stood in front of it. It was too late to try salvage any of the trees so they just stood and watched it burn. That orchard was further away from some of the smaller ones, so thankfully the damage was limited, but our production took a really big hit and things are going to be tight for a while.”

Davenport paused, glancing up at her, “I’m sorry to hear that. Was anyone hurt?”

She shook her head ruefully, “Nah, the fire was pretty contained so no casualties thank goodness. We’re all doing better now that we’ve had some time to adjust – and now that we have your help.”

He chewed thoughtfully on the tip of his pen, “And what made you think it was foul play?”

“Well,” she leaned in as she spoke, “I saw three shadowy figures fleeing the scene. No one else saw ‘em, but my dad trusts me and he believes what I saw, which is why I decided to contact your organisation, given that dad is in such a mess trying to make arrangements for a new plot to be planted and what-not.”

Davenport nodded and flipped the journal closed. “Thank you for that Noelle. Before we discuss your options, is it alright if I grab a glass of water?”

She nodded and gestured towards the bar.

The glass pitcher provided was empty, and sat in a shallow pool of liquid in its tray. The bowl of bar peanuts next to it was filled only with husks. Davenport grimaced and took a glass from atop the precarious pile, navigating his way to the main area where the barkeep stood polishing glasses. 

The barkeep – a short and friendly looking drow woman – chatted amiably with the dwarf man before disappearing into a side-room. He stood at the bar and waited, drumming his fingers onto the polished oak surface when the dwarf turned towards him and smiled crookedly. 

“Howdy.”

Davenport glanced over at him. He was a slightly crusty looking man, middle aged much like Davenport himself, with pink-tinged greying hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Two tufts of hair had escaped the band and framed his spectacled face, mischievous hazel eyes peeked out from behind them. His cheeks were rosy from the drink, and he noted the tiny pieces of bar peanuts stuck in his bushy beard.  
Davenport smiled politely in return, but did not reply. 

The dwarf clapped him on the shoulder without warning, and in a playful, boisterous voice half-yelled over the music “It’s real great to see another short bastard in this neck o’ the woods!” he laughed, “There are just so many tall fuckers in this town! It’s depressing man, lemme buy you a drink!”

He smiled thinly and extracted himself from the dwarf’s grasp, “That’s really ok, I’m just waiting for some water,”

“Nonsense!” he drawled, “C’mon loosen up will ya! You gnomes can be like that huh, pretty big sticks up the ass,” he laughed and winked, “Come on, one drink! Two ales please barkeep!”  
The barkeep had returned and smiled apologetically at Davenport, who hastily mouthed “Water please,” when the dwarf wasn’t paying attention. 

“I’m in town buying a new breed of melon seeds to plant next spring. Missed my window this year, damn it – but I’ll have a big crop of huge melons next year!” he nudged the gnome with his elbow, “And you know how much I love Huge Melons,” he waggled his eyebrows.

“No, I wouldn’t actually know anything about that,” he grimaced and drummed his fingers faster, desperate for any excuse to extract himself from this unwanted social interaction. He considered the possibility of returning without water and suffering through the rest of the meeting with a parched throat, but decided to endure.

“Anyway, what brings you to town, buddy?”

“Business.”

The barkeep mercifully returned with two glasses, one filled with amber liquid, the other colourless, and set them down in front of the two gentlemen. 

“Cheers!” he yelled and clinked his glass unceremoniously against Davenport’s and spilling a large amount of his ale in the process. 

“Yeah” he murmured, and was starting to beat a hasty retreat back to the table away from this stranger when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“Hey,” he turned, expecting a fight, but stopped when his eyes locked onto the dwarf's. Suddenly clear, the soft light of the lantern light set his irises ablaze. “You ever felt…” his brow crinkled slightly, mouth set in a thin and rueful line, “Trapped?”

Davenport’s eyes widened as he considered the question and the man before him, but before he could respond he was released. As quickly as the moment had come, it was gone, the dwarf waved a hand, “Ah, nevermind, don’t listen to an old codger like me,” and he was facing the bar again, laser-focused on his drink. 

Shrugging off the strange conversation, he turned back to the table where Noelle waited, but he couldn’t shake the intensity of the man’s gaze.  
“Well, that took some time, huh?” Noelle smiled playfully at him as he returned to the table.

“You’re not wrong,” he replied jokingly, “Now, back to business. So, Noelle, in terms of your options, we’d be happy to send an investigator to your property to collect further evidence, and from there we can send a team to follow-up depending on the findings of the initial investigation. From there w-”

_**BOOM.**_

____

An explosion rang out, shaking the frame of The Sleeping Giant to its core. 

When the dust settled, he scanned the room to assess the damage. Many of the patrons had already bolted for the door, and those that remained seemed more or less fine.  
“Stay here,” he barked in Noelle’s direction, and ran for the door. The sun had set during his time in the tavern, and pushing into the cold night air he was immediately struck by the scent of smoke. An angry red glow bled into the sky on the other side of town, smoke billowing out of a building in flames. Shadowy figures darted around inside the wreckage, and several stalked towards unsuspecting townspeople who rushed frantically from the well with buckets - trying their hardest to douse the towering inferno. 

Davenport was knocked to the side, scraping his palms on the rough stone pavement as the two elves pushed past him out the door and took off in the general direction of the blaze, towards – he noted – a small caravan parked nearby the remains of the general goods store that was now made of fire. A piece of debris had struck the top of it and set it alight, and a shadowy figure prowled on top of its roof.  
He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the sting of dirt in an open wound, and took off at a sprint for the flames. A small child stood gawking up at the raging fire, unaware of the shadow creeping towards her, an abnormally large maw condensing from its mass. With a sickening lurch in his gut, he realised he wouldn’t reach her in time, and that he would still be out of range to do any good with his magic.

He let out a shout, a warning for her to get out of the way, and as she turned and opened her mouth to scream a battle-axe buried itself in the creature’s chest. Davenport stopped dead in his tracks, head snapping from side to side to locate the mystery assailant. The human who had been wood-working in the tavern rushed forward and charged it with his shield, letting out a valiant cry as the wood connected with its mass. The creature shrieked, reeling from the blow, and suddenly the world erupted into chaos. Dozens of shadow creatures poured from the flames, spitting fire onto buildings and people.

He snapped out of his reverie and flung a spell, blasting away a shadow as it leapt towards a young woman carrying a toddler, and sprinted towards the action. The next few minutes were a blur of heat and sweat, the sickening thunk of metal as it connected with flesh, and the unholy shrieks of the creatures as they perished. Several times Davenport found himself pinned with his back against a wall, only to find the shadow trapping him dissolving from a blast of magic by the geeky human from the tavern, or slashed in two by the burly man, once or twice even frozen solid or exploded into tiny pieces by a wayward blast from one of the elves – who fiercely defended their caravan from hordes of the things that scrambled arm over leg to get to them. 

Once, he found his wand knocked out of his hand, skittering into the dirt a few feet away. He dived for it, but a shadow slammed him against the crumbling wall of a building. His head cracked against the wall and he saw stars. The wind was knocked out of him and he wheezed, panting helplessly as the thing closed in for the kill. And then, there was the dwarf. Standing a distance away, a faint golden glow enveloped him as he raised a hand and read from a small leather bound book. Vines erupted from the ground at his feet and snaked towards the creature, weaving around its limbs and squeezing with sickening popping and crunching sounds until there was no movement from inside at all. 

When it was all over, the dwarf raised his hand one final time and whispered towards the glowing red sky. Clouds gathered and crowded the horizon over the small town. A single drop of rain soaked the scorched earth. Then another. And another. The heavens opened and a torrential downpour flooded over the ruined buildings, dousing the fire and soaking the remaining people in the city square. It rained for a few minutes, and then it was gone. 

Between caring for the wounded and calling in for backup, Davenport spent a good portion of the rest of the night searching for the mystery dwarf with the piercing hazel eyes, but he had disappeared as quickly as the rain had passed.


	2. Two meetings and a meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davenport tries to cajole Merle into an interview with mixed success. Many alcoholic beverages are consumed, and Davenport doesn't get exactly what he bargained for.

On a beautiful early summer morning the sun lazily began its ascent into the rosy dawn sky, illuminating the sleepy settlement of Bottlenose Cove. Soft yellow rays caressed the awakening town as its good folk began preparations for their day - vendors setting their wares out in stalls in the town square, sleep-deprived parents dressing their bouncing children for school, and night-watchmen returning home for a well-earned nap. A few miles south of the town sat a small cottage basking in the growing light. Before it lay a sprawling garden filled with rows of strawberry, tomato, and chili, carrot, corn, and zucchini, a boundless plot brimming with dozens of crops, produce spilling onto the garden path up to the house. Old gnarled citrus trees crowded it, branches drooping with the weight of the fruit hampering their branches. 

Merle Highchurch lay sleeping within his modest bedroom on this charming little estate, his blankets bundled in a tangled heap at the end of the mattress. The first rays of the dawn began to peek into his bedroom, catching on the glasses discarded on his bedside table. As soon as the light hit his eyelids, Merle was awake. He groaned and scrubbed his face with a hand, dislodging the sleep crusting his eyes before relaxing his arm and letting it flop back onto the bed. 

“Just for once,” he mumbled, rolling out of bed and planting his feet onto the hardwood floor, “It’d be nice to sleep in for a change.”

It was at this exact moment that he heard a knock at the door. Grimacing and scrubbing another hand over his face, he fumbled for his glasses before slapping them on. He glanced at the clock.  
“6:13,” he grumbled, pushing his fingers through his unkempt shaggy mane, “What the hell?”

The knock came again at the door, more insistent this time. 

“Aw jeez,” he stood and lumbered over to his wardrobe, hastily throwing a loose cotton shirt on over his pyjama pants, “Coming!” he shouted in the general direction of the front door, with a quick “Keep your shirt on,” mumbled under his breath.

He navigated down his long hallway, past the bathroom, archway to the kitchen and parallel living room entry before finally reaching his front door. He paused to listen for a second, and tentatively peeked through the peephole installed at dwarf-height on the human-sized door. He was immediately surprised to see a man on the other side –chiefly because he could actually see his face and not just his general waist area. Standing on his doorstep bathed in golden light was a gnomish man wearing a blue waistcoat, matching slacks, and a solemn expression that matched the elegant styling of his hair and moustache –which were both carefully coifed. He looked official. Merle didn’t recognise him. He drew back from the peephole, sighing, pulling open the door to let in the morning and confront the interloping stranger.

“Yeah?”

Davenport instantly recognised the dwarf, even if his hair messily obscured large amounts of his face and he looked almost the opposite of the friendly weirdo he met in Phandalin. 

“Good morning,” he started, silently praying that this wouldn’t be as difficult as he suspected it was going to be, “I’m a reclaimer for the Bureau of Benevolence. My job is to collect testimonies regarding catastrophic events and evaluate the ways in which my organisation can help those in need,” he stuck his hand out – on olive branch for calling on Mr Highchurch so early in the morning.

Merle cautiously took it and shook once before hastily withdrawing, “Uh nice to meet you man, but you should know I didn’t get involved in any funny business that your boss might be concerned with, Mr…?”

“Davenport,” the gnome smiled thinly, retracting his own hand, “And unfortunately you were, actually. The fires at Phandalin a couple of months ago?”

Merle winced, “Ah. Yea, those old things.”

He began to absent-mindedly pick at a scab on his arm, and glanced back into the house over his shoulder, “So whaddaya need little old me for anyway?”

“I’d like to interview you on your experiences during the events before and leading up to the fire. Just a formality you understand, we’ve already addressed most of the issues in that case and we’re currently in the process of wrapping everything up, but procedures must be followed.”

“Sure,” Merle’s eyes narrowed, “So like, now?”

“Oh!” Davenport waved a hand hastily, “No no, actually I meant to apologise for the early intrusion, I was travelling all night and just got into town. I’m staying up the way at Bottlenose Cove, would it be possible to meet up with you sometime this evening? Perhaps in town somewhere?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he smiled genuinely for the first time that morning and Davenport was again struck by the strange chumminess of his demeanour, “Just at the pub, yeah? I’d offer to do it sooner but this garden’s not gonna tend to itself if you know what I mean,” he punctuated the sentence with a couple of eyebrow flashes and ended it with a playful wink. Davenport wasn’t exactly sure what could even be construed as sexual about that sentence at all but he was very sure he didn’t want to know after the way their last conversation had gone. 

“Sounds good to me. Does five o’clock work for you?”

“Works for me fine.”

“Perfect!” Davenport clapped his hands together, “I’ll see you then. Just bring yourself and maybe a pen and paper if that’d help you remember better at all. See you then, Mr Highchurch.”

“Seeya then, buddy,” he called as he watched the gnome retreat off his property back towards the small road that snaked along the coastline. 

“One thing’s for sure,” he chuckled to himself as he shut the door behind him and ambled into the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine, “That guy has the biggest stick up his ass I’ve ever seen.”  
It didn’t even cross his mind that it might be weird that this strange and particular man already knew his name without him even having to say it. 

*

That evening Davenport sat in the small bar in town drumming his fingers against the varnished surface of the table. He glanced at his watch for the fifth time. The polished quartz face read 5:32. He tsked, fingers increasing ever-so slightly in pace. He dropped his chin into the palm of his free hand, elbow propped on the table. There was nothing he hated more than tardiness. He thought about going back out to the small house and giving this sloppy dwarf a piece of his mind. He imagined marching straight up to the front door, banging impatiently on it and the triumphant smile that would flit over his face as he confronted Mr Highchurch about his absence, and for a quick second he allowed himself to indulge in this fantasy before shaking it off. Professionalism comes first. He refilled his glass of water and stretched his shoulders, popping and clicking the bones in his neck to try and dim his irritation. He glanced at his watch again. 5:34. 

Huffing, he decided that if the dwarf didn’t show up in the next ten minutes he’d call it a night, grab some food from a local restaurant to go, and return to his room in the local inn. Maybe read a book, take a bath, and fall asleep early in a warm bed. This imagined leisure time was becoming more and more appealing by the second, and once five minutes had passed Davenport decided that it he didn’t need to wait the full ten. As he stood to leave, Mr Highchurch entered. His cheeks were flushed, tiny strands of hair escaping from his messy ponytail. He spotted Davenport almost immediately, a sudden smile lit up his face as he ambled over to his table, tucking his shirt hastily into his cargo shorts. 

“Hey Buddy!” he stuck out a hand.

Davenport sighed and took the dwarf’s hand in his own, shaking it just once and trying not to wince at how moist his grip was, “Good evening Mr Highchurch. I take it punctuality isn’t one of your strong suits?”

“Ah,” the dwarf grinned, “I always forget how long that damn walk from my place takes to get here. I’ve only got short little legs, you know how that is.”

“Mhm,” Davenport withdrew his hand, covertly wiping it on his pants as he sat, “Please, take a seat and we can begin.”

“Right! Down to business then,” he sat and waved a hand to the server, “Two ales please!”

Davenport frowned. “Mr Highchurch, I think we should focus on the task at hand,” he pointedly took out his memory stone and journal and laid them on the table, “Plus, I prefer red wine.”

“No kiddin’? You more of a merlot or a syrah guy?”

“Actually, I like a nice dry pinot noir, but that’s besides the p-“

“One of those then instead of an ale please Reggie!” he called back to the server, who’d paused briefly to listen to the interaction, gave Mr Highchurch a thumbs up, and busied himself behind the bar. He turned back to Davenport, eyes twinkling with mischief, “And just Merle is fine thanks. Mr Highchurch was my dad. Besides, I just walked such a long way, and I’m feeling pretty dehydrated,” he winked.

Davenport pursed his lips, and a couple of seconds later when a tall glass of pinot noir was delivered to his seat, he resigned himself to his fate and picked it up, sniffing it.

“Salut!” Merle cried and clinked his mug roughly against Davenport’s dainty glass, almost spilling half of its contents. Davenport recovered quickly and managed to avoid sloshing his wine all over the table, steadying the glass with both hands. He raised it to his nose and inhaled the sharp, tangy bouquet.

“I’m having a bit of a déjà vu moment,” Davenport gave just half a smile as he took a tiny sip, pleasantly surprised with its quality, “Do you always offer to buy strangers drinks in bars?”

“Only the ones whose pants I wanna get in,” he laughed, taking a deep swig, “But you’re not a stranger, I already met you this morning.”

Davenport blinked and set his glass down. “We’ve met before, Merle. In Phandalin? When the town caught on fire?”

Merle’s face was blank, and he shrugged nonchalantly, brushing off the awkward expression plastered to Davenport’s face, “It was a wild night!”

Davenport blinked once, and pursed his lips again, “Well, you offered to buy me a drink last time too, but I declined. No drinking on the job. Seems to be a pattern with you, though.”

Merle’s face lit up in recognition and he snapped his fingers, “Right! You’re that tightass from the bar! Now I remember!” he slapped a palm on the table, chuckling to himself, “Man, you really haven’t changed much! You always this tightly wound?”

Davenport avoided his gaze and cleared his throat. “The interview, shall we?”

Merle smiled softly and leaned back in his chair, “Sure. How does this work?”

Davenport gently pressed the surface if the stone, which glowed blue in response. 

“So. As I’ve mentioned before, we’ve already tidied up most of the loose ends of this case, the rest of the recordings are simply a formality. We’ll take your statement and keep it in the case file, and if it reopens at any point we may contact you again, but beyond that once this interview is finished, you’re free to go. Any other questions?”

Merle shook his head and grinned goofily, “Not a one, lay it on me.”

Davenport smiled and opened his journal, flipping to a bookmarked page and skimming it. Merle considered the gnome sitting across from him, primly sipping his red wine and scanning the page he looked animated, more so than Merle had seen him in the very short time knowing him. He snapped his gaze away when Davenport looked up at him, not wanting to be caught staring so openly.

Davenport cleared his throat and clicked his pen one, two, three times. 

“Why were you in Phandalin on the night of the attack?”

“Well that’s an easy one,” he leaned forward in his chair, which groaned in protest underneath him, “I was in town to research and buy a new breed of melon to grow in my garden. I was pretty impressed so I bought a few packs of seeds for next year.”

Davenport smiled awkwardly and took another long sip of wine, remembering Merle’s… joke? If that’s what you could call it.

“What did you do after you purchased your seeds?”

“I went over to The Sleeping Giant to enjoy some good tunes and booze.”

“Walk me through the events that night leading up to the attack.”

Merle loosened his collar, taking a long sip of his ale and paused to adjust his glasses, “Well, I went and bought the seeds from my farmer pal Linus, then I stopped into the general goods store to buy enough food for the trip home, and then I went straight to the bar.”

“Okay,” Davenport wrote furiously for a second or two, “And then what happened?”

Merle met the gnome’s eyes. Incredibly blue, they focused on him like lasers.  
“I…” Merle chewed his lip, hesitating for just a second before brushing the curtain of hair back from his face and averting his gaze, “You know, I don’t really remember!”

A small crease imposed itself onto Davenport’s brow, “Well I know you said you didn’t remember meeting me that night but surely you remember the events that unfolded? It’s not something someone would easily forget.”

Merle pursed his lips and shook his head, then let out a lion-sized yawn. “Not really, no. Memory’s not what it used to be.”

Davenport sighed impatiently, but before he could retort the dwarf interrupted him.

“Look, I’m pretty tired and it’s getting dark soon, I think I should head home and hit the hay,” he said, stretching theatrically and checking his wristwatch, “Maybe I’ll perform better after a good night’s sleep eh? You really grilled me there, bud!” he downed the rest of his ale and reached over, clapping Davenport on the shoulder, “I’ll just take my leave, seeya round.”

Merle stood, stretched again, and made his way for the door.

“Wait a minute!” Davenport yelped indignantly, picking his jaw off the floor, “We’ve barely even started! I must insist that we meet again to finish the interview,” he scooped up his journal and scribbled a last note, “Perhaps you’d be more at home in your own space? Maybe it’d help… jog your memory.” He stared pointedly at Merle, his steely gaze daring him to say no.

After a pause, Merle chuckled good naturedly. 

“Jeez, you are a determined one aren’t ya? Sure, why not. Dinner at mine tomorrow night, on me. Maybe I can give you the old 20 questions to start off with to make things Even Stevens eh?” he nudged the gnome with his elbow.

“Sure,” Davenport said, drawing out the word as he cautiously offered his hand to shake, “It’s a deal. See you tomorrow, then. 8 o’clock okay?”

“8 it is! It’s a date,” he grabbed Davenport’s hand and shook vigorously, “Seeya tomorrow Dav!”

Davenport grimaced, exclaiming “Please don’t call me that!” in protest after the dwarf, but he was already out of the building.  
Davenport sat down hard in his seat, all the energy leaving him at once. He downed the rest of his wine and decided to go back to the hotel and have a very, very long bubble bath – he’d earned it, and sleep off this weird social interaction. It was then that he noticed the memory stone still glowing on the table, and he slowly, without hurry, reached over and tapped the surface gently. Tomorrow was going to be something. 

*

The sun was low on the horizon when Davenport arrived on the dirt path up to the small cottage. A gentle breeze tugged at the swaying branches of the deciduous trees pushing at the edges of the perimeter fence. Merle watched him arrive through the large semi-circular window spanning the kitchen wall that faced the sea. The sun glinted off the calm surface of the water and bounced off of Davenport’s orange hair as he strode up the path. 

Seconds later, a prim but firm knock came at the door. Merle straightened his shirt and sprinkled a liberal pinch of parsley into the pan he was holding, sliding it carefully into the wood fire oven and closing the metal door, replacing the latch. 

“Comin’,” he called, slipping on his sandals and heading towards the door. 

As he pulled the door ajar to welcome in the evening he found the gnome poised with a fist in the air ready to knock again, and a sheepish smile spread across his face. 

“Someone’s impatient, are you that hungry?”

Davenport smiled awkwardly and brought his fist back down, stretching it out instead for a handshake. The first things he saw were tiny yellow wildflowers, which had been expertly woven into the dwarf’s beard. He couldn’t help but think it was cute.

“Starving, actually. May I come in?”

His eyes, caught in the light of the evening were the flat sea after a storm. Merle felt his cheeks redden slightly, and glanced away, turning back into the hallway.

“Sure thing,” He moved aside and gestured into the house beyond him, “What’s mine is yours.”

He started heading back to the kitchen leaving Davenport to follow. He entered and surveyed his surroundings – polished wood surfaces, a long hallway and warm furnishings. He followed Merle around to the left and entered a warm, welcoming room with pale yellow walls – naturally lit by the sun trickling through a wall-sized window that overlooked the garden and faced the ocean. A large stained oak table was pushed up against the window, a wood fire oven burned in the corner emitting heat and the delicious scent of cooking potatoes. There were a couple bookshelves in the room lined with thick tomes, seashells, a couple pot plants, and some framed photos. Two settings were laid out on the table and red wine aired in a decanter between them.

“Please, take a seat” Merle gestured to the table and wandered over to an old gas stove. He liberally glugged olive oil into a cast iron pan and waited for it to heat. Davenport took the seat facing the stove so he could watch Merle cook and stared out the window, chin falling into his palm. 

The bay outside was gorgeous, really. Tall rugged cliffs plunging into a calm cerulean sheet stretching as far as the eye can see, orange light glimmering off of its calm back and setting it alight.  
“What’s for dinner?” his eyes drifted back to the dwarf, busy at work over the stove. 

“Steak, roast potatoes, and a garden salad,” the dwarf moved with surprising agility over the pan given his burly build, laying two large steaks onto the smoking surface, salting and peppering, rubbing with minced garlic and sprinkling thyme over top. He turned and brought a wooden bowl filled with glossy lettuce and plump cherry tomatoes, setting it down on the table alongside a tall, thin bottle of dark brown liquid – which he assumed was a dressing of some sort. “Fresh from the garden,” winking for effect, he brandished his spatula and gestured to the airing wine, “Pour us a glass, will you please?”

Davenport nodded and unstopped the decanter, pouring two large glasses of red wine obligingly. He paused for a second to inhale the bouquet. Fruity, probably a merlot. He took a tentative sip, and then another, savouring it, and then set the glass down. 

“Seems like you’re quite the cook.”

Merle shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at him, “Kinda I guess? Just a lot of time spent living on my lonesome, you do a lot of cooking for yourself when you’re way out in the wop-wops.”  
He smiled and pulled out two large white plates. “Dinner’ll be ready in just a tick.”

About ten minutes later he finished plating and brought the plates over to the table, setting one down in front of Davenport and the other at his own seat. Grabbing the serving tongs, he dished out a healthy heaping of greens to both plates. Retreating to the other side of the room briefly, he flicked the lights on and returned to his seat to sat down opposite the Gnome.

He raised his glass amiably and clinked it – gently this time – against Davenport’s. “Rub-a-dub dub, thanks for the grub!” and he took a deep gulp.

“Quite,” Davenport smiled lopsidedly, and sipped his own wine. “This looks amazing, thanks for going to all the trouble!”

“Nah,” Merle waved a hand “It’s nothing; I so rarely have houseguests so it’s nice to cook for someone else for a change!”

Davenport sipped his wine thoughtfully and watched the dwarf tuck into his potatoes, glancing away after a couple seconds. He wasn’t quite sure how he should be reacting in this scenario, whether or not he should be professional or social, least of all how to respond to the man in front of him. So, he decided to be as polite as he could, for the time being, and he would just try to divert conversation back to official business given the opportunity. He’d start by socialising, he supposed. 

He looked up to see the dwarf studying him in turn, and caught off guard he flashed a self-conscious smile. Merle flashed an amiable one back, and pushing his fork into a cherry tomato he asked, “So Dav,” Davenport winced at the nickname – which just felt too familiar for their acquaintanceship – “What exactly do you do for the good ole’ BoB?”

Davenport cleared his throat, swallowing his mouthful, “I’m a reclaimer.”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?”

Davenport scratched behind his ear, “Well, I’m a pilot by trade, and I also studied astronomy extensively at university. I got my first job at a field research facility in Neverwinter, eventually worked my way up through the ranks to be the top pilot on their team.”

“Right!” he blinked, “Mr Bigshot over here! So how’d you get your gig at the Bureau?”

“The Director took notice of me after I won a couple of awards for my piloting in some pretty dicey situations in the field. You know how temperamental dragons can be.”

“Uh-huh…” he dragged it out, studying the man in front of him. Self-assured, but lacking in arrogance. He sure was a strange one.

“Anyway, now I just go out and pretty much take statements from people who need help, those who have seen things out of the ordinary, and then we take it back to headquarters and evaluate how best to help,” he paused to take a small gulp of wine. “I mostly manage teams but I do like getting out into the field occasionally. Helps with the cabin fever.”

“Yeah I can imagine,” Merle chuckled, finished his wine, poured another, and topped Davenport’s glass all the way up, to his chagrin, “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I weren’t outside all day. The sun, the sea, the garden,” he stared dreamily out into the night, “It’s all you need, you know?”

“Well actually I don’t have much of a green finger, so I wouldn’t know.”

Merle cracked a large, cheesy grin. “What? You’ve never even grown like, a cactus or anything?”

“Well I tried that once but I just ended up drowning it.”

Merle Guffawed. “Sounds like a pretty shitty sich! If you ever wanted to learn how to grow I’d be happy to tell you a thing or two. I’m…. rooting for you…”

Davenport snorted, catching himself and the dwarf off-guard – who grinned even wider, delighted at the unexpected sound.  
“Sorry!” Davenport flushed considerably, clamping a hand over his mouth, “Bad habit.”

“That’s fine! Good to see you actually have a sense of humour under all that starch,” he grinned playfully.

Davenport sat back in his seat and sipped his wine again, choosing to ignore the previous statement. His gaze returned to the lush oasis outside.

“So, how do you make all these plants grow so well? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Merle shrugged and leaned back in his chair as well, “Always had a knack for it.”

Davenport cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You never told me what your background was.”

He coughed gently, “Well I’m a uh, cleric actually.”

“Right!” Davenport leaned in again, a spark igniting in his eyes, “That explains your way with plants! Who is your patron god?”

“Pan. You know, the hairy one with the goat legs?”

“I’m familiar,” he took a long sip out of his glass and replaced it on the table. “What was that like growing up?”

Merle looked at him quizzically, reaching over the table to top up Davenport’s glass again, “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing,” He waved a hand, “It’s just that I didn’t grow up in a very religious environment. Like yeah, of course we worship the gods, but never any one more-so than the others.”  
Merle hummed, and took a second to think before he responded, noting the rosy glow to the gnome’s cheeks – which he attributed to the wine. 

“Well, it was a pretty normal childhood I guess, Sunday school, sermons, communing with nature and all that. Pretty standard Pan stuff.”

“You ever go to Pan camp?” Davenport smirked, and Merle was pretty sure this was the closest thing to a joke he’d heard him tell.

“Yeah, man! It was great! Bible study, Kumbaya and all that jazz. Some of the camp counsellors were pretty crusty, even for dwarves,” he flashed a wry smile, “You ever have anything like that growing up?”

Davenport chuckled, “Well for me it was Science camp. My parents were both scientists so every summer I was there, calculating the circumference of the lake, programming basic robots and studying the stars.”  
Merle snorted, “Sounds pretty nerdy if you ask me.”

Davenport shrugged, “Never said it wasn’t,” and he smiled.

 

He felt himself relax more as the night wore on; aided by the frequent top-ups Merle provided his glass with. It wasn’t until Davenport glanced up at the clock that he realised several hours had passed without him having asked Merle a single question pertaining to the case, and by this advanced hour in the evening he was feeling more than a little tipsy off his numerous sips of wine. They’d managed to polish off about a bottle each, and the moon waxed high in the sky outside. 

It was when Davenport rose to use the facilities that he passed close by one of the bookshelves and noticed a small framed photo. It was of three dwarves – one of whom he recognised as Merle. He looked a little younger, less tired perhaps, with shorter hair too. He wore a colourful printed shirt, and grinned from ear to ear. On his shoulders sat a very young Dwarvish boy with shaggy dark hair obscuring his eyes and a huge gap-toothed smile, pumping both his fists in the air he teetered precariously on the verge of falling. Merle’s right hand rested on the boy’s leg to steady him and the other lay on the shoulder of a young girl. She had huge round glasses that covered most of her face, and her short red hair was clipped to shoulder length. She was just smiling with the very corners of her mouth, looking up at the boy on Merle’s shoulders.

He turned to look over his shoulder and caught Merle staring, but before he could ask who they were, Merle stretched and yawned dramatically.

“Hey buddy, it’s getting pretty late and I don’t think you’re in any state to make the trip all the way back to town. You should probably stay here for the night.”

Davenport opened his mouth to protest, thoughts of the picture tumbling out of his head, but Merle ambled over and laid a surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder.  
“You can take my bed, I have a spare set of pyjamas so you don’t have to sleep in your clothes, ok? It’s really no trouble.”

He smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Merle.”

“No problem, buddy. We’ll leave the dishes for tomorrow, eh?” He turned and clicked the lights off as they entered the hallway.

The two walked down the long hall past the living room, making a turn before arriving at Merle’s door. He gestured to an adjacent door and said “Bathroom’s in there,” before stepping inside and flicking the light switch on. It was a small room, modest, with the majority of the space being taken up by a double bed situated in the centre of the room. A desk was pushed into the corner. There was a wardrobe, a bookshelf, a small chest, a bedside table and a small planter box, but not much else besides a rug on the floor at the entrance covering the cold hardwood floor. Merle walked over to the closet, opened it and pulled out a folded pair of pyjamas, which he laid on the foot of the bed, reached over to a lamp next to the bed and flicked it on before turning back to Davenport.  
“All yours for the night. If you need anything else, give me a shout, I’ll be sleeping on a couch in the living room. Just holler and I’ll be there.”

"Thanks so much again Merle,” Davenport smiled, “Really.”

Merle beamed back, “No problem, Dav.” 

It was a nice moment, so Davenport ignored the nickname.

“You know,” Davenport chuckled, “We didn’t even get to talk about any interview stuff.”

“What?” Merle gasped, “Wow. What a, just a big bummer! Just a huge bummer!” He put a hand on his hip, “Huh. Well, I guess we’ll have to get to that in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal,” Davenport gave him a thumbs-up, “Goodnight Merle.”

Merle headed for the door, gripped the handle and flicked the lights off, “Goodnight, buddy. Sweet dreams,” and he closed the door gently behind him leaving Davenport alone in his room.  
He turned to the pyjamas folded neatly on the bed and picked them up. Pale blue with white daisies dotted all over them, and probably a couple of sizes too big. He changed into them quietly, folded his own clothes neatly and placed them on the end of the bed. Suddenly he was very aware of his movements in the house and his presence in Merle’s bedroom. The pyjamas were soft and smelled faintly of lemongrass, and sliding carefully under the covers he instantly felt sleepy. Sighing, he reached over and flicked the lamp off, enveloping himself in comfortable darkness. Snuggled under the covers, he felt oddly at home.  
His thoughts drifted over the events of the last couple of months, and days, and the evening he’d just shared with this reclusive man. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the image of Merle curled up on one of the couches under a large warm blanket, glasses off and hair out of its ponytail, breathing slow and quiet. Only two walls divided the space between them.  
One minute, he was awake, blissfully warm, drowsy, and the next he was asleep.

*

The minute after that, he was awake. For a few seconds he didn’t know where he was. He sat up fast in the bed, before he remembered the previous night. Merle’s house, Merle’s room. Merle’s flowery pyjamas. They hung off of him as he stood. The smooth wood floor was cool under his bare feet, and he padded quietly over to his clothes.

He changed slowly, stretching like a cat when he was finished. The mirror set into the door of the wardrobe reflected a slightly dishevelled man. He adjusted himself, patting down his bedhead and doing a quick full-body inventory. Rolling his shoulders, clicking his toes and fingers, he was fully awake, and sat back down on the bed to slip his feet into his shoes. After making the bed, he slipped quietly into the hallway and made his way to the bathroom to freshen up. 

He closed the door softly behind him then turned on the faucet in the sink. Cold water on dry skin, looking up he met his own eyes in the mirror. Tired eyes, a tiny amount of ginger stubble starting to push through the top layer of skin on his chin. He tsked, rubbing his hand over it. “I need a shave.”  
He ran his wet fingers through his hair, smoothing it all the way down, and took a deep breath. 

His steps echoed slightly as he headed back down the hallway towards the kitchen, and opposite the kitchen door he noticed the door to the living room slightly ajar. The inside of the room was dark. A tiny crack of light peeked through a slit in the curtains illuminating a thin strip of yellow penetrating the darkness. The air was still save the muted sound of slow breathing emanating from the sleeping dwarf piled onto the closest couch. Davenport sucked in his breath, and gradually inched the door closed until the frame kissed its wood. 

Breakfast. It would be a shoddy attempt, but a considerate thought none-the less. The larder lay behind a door directly opposite the front door, Davenport procured bread and vinegar, and returning to the kitchen he scoured the fridge. Eggs would do, and spotting an open packet of bacon he pulled that out too. The stove was ancient; he’d never worked on one that still ran off of gas. Hunting around, he found a pot and two pans, and plonked them onto the elements. He whispered a short phrase and clicked his fingers, a small flame alighting in his hands. It was an old trick he’d learned from a wizard friend in college, but it came in handy the rare times he needed it – mostly when he wanted to impress people at parties, but for now it worked perfectly in place of a lighter. 

When the pans heated, he rubbed butter into one of them, sliced some bread, and left it to toast. He laid a few rashers of bacon into the other, which sizzled upon contact and filled the room with a delicious smoky scent. After a couple of minutes he started to poach the eggs, and whipped up a quick hollandaise in a bowl heated gently over the last free element. He set the table, laying out a couple of plates and some cutlery, and then returned to the stove to flip the bacon over. 

“Howdy!”

Davenport started, then turned to see a sleepy Merle occupying the doorway. He wore a large shirt over baggy shorts, his hair had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, although half of it had escaped and covered his lazily smiling face. His glasses sat crookedly atop his nose, and for some reason the sight of him made something momentarily seize up in his chest. 

“H…Hi,” He smiled cautiously, “Some night, huh? You sleep ok on the couch?”

“Yeah,” Merle yawned and shuffled towards a nearby cupboard, “Coffee?”

Davenport watched him procure a magic-powered kettle, setting it on the counter he produced a coffee plunger and filled it with grinds. 

“Yeah, please,” he moved back to the table to grab the plates and fished a few of eggs out of the pot, placing two on each plate, and a couple of seconds later the eggs were joined by bacon. He poured some hollandaise overtop of them, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the dwarf as he boiled the water and poured it into the plunger.

Suddenly, Merle looked up, sniffing the air. He peeked through his hair at Davenport, his brow creasing slightly. “Hey uh, is something burning?”

“Oh, shit!” His head snapped back to the pan with his toast, which was smoking profusely. Wincing, he pulled the bread out of the pan and placed them on the plates. They were black on one side.  
“Sorry,” he sighed, “It’s pretty burned.”

Merle guffawed, “Not to worry, I’ll just scrape the crusty bits off. Thanks for the trouble!”

“Well,” Davenport laid the plates down on the table, “You cooked for me last night, so I figured I’d return the favour.”

Merle followed him to the table, two mugs of coffee in one hand, two empty glasses in another. “You do milk or sugar?”

Davenport shook his head, “I prefer it black.”

“More for me then,” he grinned, and making another trip he returned with milk and sugar. He sat down opposite Davenport and spooned one, two, three teaspoons of sugar into it, stirring them into the steaming liquid, and chased down the copious amounts of sugar with a generous glug of milk. Davenport just watched, trying his best to contain his disbelief. Merle looked up and caught his eye, and a sheepish expression crossed his face. 

“Do you want some juice?”

“Sure,” Davenport nodded absent-mindedly, “You want me to grab some from the fridge?”

Merle shook his head, “No need,” and stood. He unlatched the closest window and reached outside. He plucked two huge oranges from the branches of the nearest tree and set them in the table, closing the window after him. He offered a hand and Davenport obligingly handed him his empty glass, bemused. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” He announced, “Watch as I turn these two delicious oranges,” he brandished one up in front of the glass with a flourish, “Into delicious juice!”  
He waved his hand around mystically and tapped the top of the orange over the glass. A hole appeared in the top, and when he turned it upside-down, juice spilled out of it, filling the glass almost to the brim. He repeated the trick over his own glass, and presented the first glass to Davenport, a huge cheesy smile plastered across his face. 

Davenport tried not to be charmed by this, and reached across the table with as neutral an expression as he could muster. As he gripped the glass, his fingers brushed Merle’s and a spark of electricity shot up his arm. He shuddered involuntarily and took the glass, sipping out of it and trying to ignore the sudden pounding in his chest. 

It was sweet, pulpy and rich. “Pretty good,” he broke his poker face to crack a smile, “Let’s eat.”

“You said it!” Merle beamed. He tucked in, making all the right sounds of appreciation – even when braving the charcoaled bread. 

Davenport tried not to look at him. Every time he did he noticed the way the sun softly lit his features, the flowers left over in his beard from the night before, or the way he closed his eyes when he took deep mouthfuls of coffee. It was probably the lack of sleep. Probably just the country air doing weird things to his brain. Probably.

They mostly ate in silence. After a time, dawn turned into morning and the tide rolled in on the beach outside. 

A sudden vibrating in his breast pocket startled him. He pulled out his stone of far speech, which was flashing impatiently. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” his brow furrowed as he pressed the surface.  
“Hello?”

Merle watched him for a few seconds as he nodded furiously. He tried not to listen too much to just one half of the conversation, and looked out the window to appear disinterested as possible. After a minute or so, Davenport hung up and turned apologetically back to him. 

“Sorry, that was The Director. I’ve been called back to Neverwinter on urgent business.”

“Oh,” Merle tried to hide his disappointment, “Sure. Do what you gotta do, chief.”

Davenport rose, shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth, and gulped down the rest of his juice. “I’m sure I’ll be back eventually to wrap everything up with the investigation, so expect me to darken your doorway again sometime in the future.”

“Take your time,” he shrugged, “Thanks for breakfast! I’ll cya round, Dav.”

Davenport smiled and stuck his hand out, “Thanks for dinner. See you next time.”

Merle took it, and shook once. There was a moment, bathed in the morning light with the air warm and sweet with the scent of oranges, and then it was gone and Davenport was heading for the door. Merle watched him go down the garden path and out onto the dirt road, where he promptly disappeared from view – obscured by greenery. 

Merle finished his breakfast in silence, listening to the birdsong outside, the distant ocean waves, suddenly and acutely aware of the empty space across from him. He cleaned up from the meal the previous night, got dressed, and made preparations for his day. The garden wasn’t going to tend itself. He had things to do, plants to water, fruits and veggies to harvest to sell at the market. It was a good thing that the pesky stranger had left, now he could get back to his life, return to his peaceful solitude. 

At least, that’s what he told himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience! a bigger chapter this time around hence the wait, hopefully I'll be able to get the next one out sooner :)


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